Warning: Irish Temperament Ahead
by Erzsebeth Bathory
Summary: A collection of short side stories which focus on Patrick and Kate McReary before, during, and possibly after the events of GTA IV.
1. One Afternoon

**Author's note: **This will be a collection of short side stories which focus on Patrick "Packie" and/or his sister Kate McReary. Some of these stories may feature appearances of other GTA IV characters but the primary stars will be the two McReary siblings. I'm not sure how long I will be able to stretch this out, so we'll see how this goes!

**Disclaimer: **_Grand Theft Auto IV _is copyright (c) Rockstar Games and all others associated with legal rights.

* * *

"One Afternoon"

* * *

Cocaine could injected, smoked, and snorted.

Packie's preferred method was snorting.

Like a vacuum, his nostril sucked the fine line of white powder through the rolled up bill. He then sat back in his seat and shook his head, enjoying the rush of energy. The sound of footsteps was heard and Packie sat up in time to see Kate standing at the doorway, arms folded across her chest.

"Ma wants me to get some things from the store," she announced casually. "She said you had some money?"

"Huh? Oh shit, my bad. Here."

Packie unrolled the bill he'd just used and held it out for Kate. She scowled and rested her hands on her hips. "Unbelievable," she said with exasperation. "I can't believe you're going to give me that after you'd used it!"

"So what? Ninety percent of all money in the U.S. has some trace of cocaine on it. Just take it and fuck off already!"

Kate rolled her eyes and waved a hand at him, dismissing his attitude. "Never mind, Packie, I'll use my own money that I earned honestly at the honest job I work at."

As she turned on her heels and walked off, Packie hollered out, "Gimme a six-pack of Pißwasser while you're out!"

The front door slammed shut before he could receive a response.


	2. It Was Someone Else

"It Was Someone Else"

* * *

"It's hard to imagine that you and Niko actually fought together in a war," Kate admitted.

Bernie laughed playfully as he adjusted the feather-weight scarf around his slender neck. "That was _Florian Cravic_. Bernie Crane is the fashionable Middle Park West resident and fabulous party-goer at Hercules. Watch out boys because tonight I will be on the prowl!"

"But doesn't it bother you that you did those things back then?"

"Florian."

"Excuse me?"

"It was _Florian _who did those things." Bernie's voice suddenly changed; it was darker, more masculine and it caught Kate off guard. "He grew up in the same village as Niko and Roman, and it was he who worked in a slaughter house and who said he wanted to become a wrestler. He was the one who didn't bat an eye at the everyday sight of dead, bloated corpses littering the streets. Florian was the one who escaped execution and allowed Bernie to be born in Liberty City. Florian has been dead for quite some time."

Kate frowned at this explanation. "Just because you changed your name and you became more open with yourself doesn't mean you should ever forget what you did."

"No, no, no, no, no, I won't listen." Bernie threw his hands over his ears as if trying to prevent any further words to slip into his head. "We're done with this conversation."

"Bernie-"

"La, la, la~! I think I'll forgo the scarf and just go with some extra mousse in my hair."

Bernie abruptly slipped into the bathroom and there was an unsettling pause in the bedroom. Kate sighed heavily as she picked at the silk fabric that covered the top of the bed. She wasn't sure if she should leave, seeing as how she opened up a can of worms. However, Bernie came out moments later and offered her a sweet smile as he held up a brush and scrutinized Kate.

"Now!" he chirped, his voice back to normal. "How about we do something about that hair of yours?"

* * *

Author's Note: I don't know if these two ever spoke to one another, but hey, that's what fanfiction is for, right?


	3. One Night At Steinway's

"One Night At Steinway's…"

* * *

It was rare for the three of them to hang out together, but there they were, sitting inside the Steinway Beer Garden enjoying a round of drinks on a Saturday night.

Kate McReary sat between her two companions: her brother Patrick and Niko Bellic. She was listening to a story Niko was telling her about his life back home when Packie abruptly got out of his seat.

"Be right back," Packie announced as he quickly crossed over to one of the booths where a lone man was seated. Looking over her shoulder, she saw that he was a fairly handsome fellow, someone who looked decent and law-abiding. But the instant that Packie slapped the palm of his hand on top of the table, Kate shifted her focus back onto her drink.

"You finished looking at my sister?"

Despite the thick crowd inside the pub, Packie's voice cut loud and clear.

"I've got some knuckles in needing of lining up and your face is just perfect for pounding in. So eat your food and get the fuck outta here. Got it? Better keep your eyes low, boy, when you walk through that door."

"Oh god," Kate groaned as she quickly downed the rest of her beer in one, loud gulp. She slammed the mug down on the counter and offered Niko a sad look. "He'll never stop."

Niko held up his drink in recognition to Kate's statement.

"You are fortunate to have a protective brother like Packie, even if he enjoys the drugs and drinking a bit much, and his preference for violence."

"And you don't, Niko?" Kate remarked with a cocked eyebrow.

Niko smirked. He guzzled his drink and replied, "I never doubt the drinking or the violence for a second. The drugs is something I will not ever choose to do."

"Vodka shots and riddling bullets in someone's chest is a-okay but drugs are a big no-no?" Kate snorted. "Well, _that's_ a small comfort."


	4. Inside the Fridge

"Inside the Fridge"

* * *

Kate opened the refrigerator door and upon the sight of the dead body wedged inside, she calmly and quietly (but swiftly) closed it shut.

She stood there, trying to think of something, anything, that would push the sight of the man's corpse out of her mind: her upcoming class reunion, the new co-worker who would not stop complimenting the way she smelled, Ma's daily lectures on everyone was going to hell, feigning that she liked Niko only as a friend…

Nope, nothing. That body was still clear as day and its rotting flesh had most likely ruined the food.

Dammit. She only hoped one of her brothers (she knew very well one of them was responsible for this) would get rid of the body soon.

Now she would have to buy more baking soda to get rid of the smell.

Fuck it. She decided that needed to buy her own mini fridge.


	5. Boozing in Algonquin

"Boozing in Algonquin"

* * *

Packie staggered out of one of the many Algonquin drinking establishments, almost tripping over the steps and knocking into a group of people. Gravity seemed to betray him and his back slammed against the building's wall. The wind was knocked out of him but he remained conscious as he was soon joined by his friend, Niko.

"Shit… Niko… I'm… I'm feeling fantastic… Whoa, I might be a little on the drunk side…"

Niko used the wall to steady himself next to Packie, his head equally buzzed before he started to lurch away. "Nooo, really? Do tell."

"Fuck you and your fucking sarcasm." The retort sent Packie spiraling mentally into a whole other direction, even though he was physically struggling to stand on his own two feet. He took a couple of steps and fell over something, landing roughly on his hands and knees. "Jesus! I think I just tripped over a moose! What the hell did I just fall over?"

"That would be me, Patrick." Niko sounded so normal and composed even though he could have sworn he'd seen him down just as many shots as he had. Packie couldn't even see him at the moment, but then again, he was seeing double or triple of everything else.

"We Irish got cast-iron stomachs, Niko. We can go drinking until the Armageddon is upon us."

"No doubt."

"Did you see me with that chick back there? Totally into me. I didn't care if she said she had to use the can but never came back. She was just probably shy or something."

"Sure, Packie, sure."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Niko. Hang up." Packie rose to his feet and staggered away.

Niko climbed off the ground and rested a hand against the side of his head, no longer able to keep up with his buddy. "Hang up, what? Where are you?"

Moments later, Niko felt a rough hand settle upon his shoulder from behind, followed by the grotesque sound of vomit spewing.

"UGH!" Packie gasped as he wiped his hand with the back of his mouth, using Niko as an anchor. "Damn! This is a first for me - well, first in a while, anyway. Fuuuck, I don't remember eating _that."_

"I thank you for your aiming," Niko said sardonically as he shook off some of the greenish-brown heave that coated a pair of Perseus shoes he (mistakenly) chose to wear on this outing.

Packie held out a hand and said, "Gimme the keys, Niko. You're such a good, good friend. An absolute prince. Tell you what: I'm gonna drive us back to Ma's."

Niko shook his head and chuckled. He wasn't _that_ drunk to know what a stupid idea that was. Go figure, it would be the only time any of his friends offered to drive him anywhere, as he was always assigned to be the driver.

"C'mon, Niko, I'm in better… better condition to drive than you."

"Your cast iron stomach and my shoes say otherwise. Besides, I do not have keys."

"Wait, what? How'd the fuck did we get here, then?"

"Shiiit, you can't remember? We took taxi!"

"… You lazy fucking fuck."

Five minutes later and with clearer heads, Niko and Packie were sprinting like Olympic athletes down the dark streets, away from an oncoming police cruiser with wailing siren and flashing lights.

"I can't believe you tried to jack a police car of all cars, Niko!"

"I'm sorry, okay? Forgive me for being human and making mistakes! Alcohol does that to some people!"

An oncoming car was approaching them and Niko went through the motions of robbing the driver of their wheels. It was a piece of shit car that looked like it would fall apart at a moments notice, but it was something that would allow them a better chance at escaping arrest. Packie jumped into the passenger's seat while Niko took the wheel.

"Man, Niko, If you can get us back in one piece, I won't make any cracks about your shitty driving!"

"Please, Packie, just keep quiet and let me concentrate."

"No prob - oh shit, I think I'm gonna…!"'

Niko sighed as he pressed the entire weight of his foot onto the gas pedal and Packie threw up rather noisily. The tires screeched as they soared down the road toward the bridge that stretched across the Humboldt River. Eyes on the road, he heard Packie yell out, "Weak! I just fucking washed these pants, too! Christ almighty…"


	6. Prelude to Undertaker

"Prelude to Undertaker"

* * *

"… don't want you dressing like a bum in church."

Packie ended his phone conversation as Kate strolled into the living room, wearing a simple black dress. He slipped his phone into his pocket and announced, "I told Niko to come to the funeral."

"Oh." Her green eyes scrutinized the black suit her brother wore before she turned her attention to the fireplace. "Ma's just about ready. She's just trying to put on a brave face for everyone."

Packie grunted but said nothing. Even after everything that has happened to their family, their mother insisted on keeping everyone together. In spite the horrible crimes the boys would commit on a daily basis, Maureen wanted the entire family to attend church every Sunday. Today was no different as the remaining family members would head over to the largest cathedral in Algonquin to lay one of the McReary boys to rest: death by a gunshot wound fired by an unknown assailant.

Kate eased down onto a sofa chair and chuckled darkly. "I'm surprised it's taken this long for one of us to get killed."

"A goddamn sniper attack," Packie commented as he patted himself down to make sure he had everything he needed: cell phone, gun, bullets. Everything was ready to go. "Figured it'd had to be a surprise attack. Nobody would wanna take us on face to face, so they go and take us out from the shadows."

"You realize Ma' s going to make us go to both Saturday _and_ Sunday services because of this."

"Fuck that shit," Packie spat. "I don't mind listening about the graces of God on Sunday but Saturday nights'll just be the same stuff we'll have to hear the next day. Besides, my Saturdays are reserved for personal affairs."

Kate groaned inward at her brother's interpretation of affairs. "Let me guess: ingesting, snorting, injecting, smoking, drinking, and fucking. Or are they in any particular order?"

Packie pointed a finger at her and retorted, "First, I don't stick no needles in me body. Second, I like to have _fun _with my Saturday nights instead of trying to preserve my virginity until I become eligible for social security."

Throwing insults and implications was territory the McReary perfected in, and felt comfortable with. Such behavior allowed them to cope with life's mishaps, pain in all of its forms: from gunshot wounds to drug overdoses, from stabbings to molestations, from physical abuse to death.

Kate got up from her chair and adjusted her ponytail and rolled with the punches. "At least if and when I decide to have sex, I will have the satisfaction of knowing I have a clean body and a clear consciousness. God only knows what horrible junk you've put inside of you."

She lowered her hands from the back of her head as Packie turned his back on her and pulled the living room curtains aside. He peered out the window at the Dukes neighborhood, seemingly suspicious of whoever or whatever was out there.

"Wait, Patrick, you said Niko was coming to the funeral. Are you sure that's a good idea?"

Releasing his hold of the curtain, Packie shot his sister a look over his shoulder. "Yeah, it's a damn good idea to invite someone who's proven himself to be a trusted friend and ally. Don't you like Niko no more?"

"I never said I didn't like him…" Kate fought off the urge to think about how Niko _could_ be nice and how much of a gentleman he has been to her during their many _friends-only _outings. So she quickly added, "… as a _friend. _He's a step up from your typical gangster buddies. It's just I'm not sure it'd be a good idea to bring him."

"Why not?" Packie's voice was suddenly filled with tension as he faced her. "What do you think is gonna happen? We go to the funeral, say goodbye to our asshole brother, and watch him get buried in the cemetery. End of story."

"Niko _does_ have the tendency to attract attention even if he tries to be low-brow about it."

"Ain't nobody going to start shit at a church."

Kate sighed as she heard their mother climb down the staircase. "You better hope so… for Ma's sake."

* * *

Author's note: I decided to let you guys imagine which brother it is that was getting buried in this story, because the game allowed the player choose who to take out. Personally I always took out Francis because while Derrick seemed like a hopeless heroin addict and snitch, he appeared to have more redeemable qualities than his ganster-turned-cop brother. Then again, everyone in the game was a horrible hypocrite with both good and bad qualities XD


	7. Fame

"Fame"

* * *

The Irish Mobs were one of the oldest organized crime groups in the country, and Packie was proud to say that the McReary family were among the legendary factions of Liberty City. But because of his violent and alcoholic father, their fame quickly went stumbling out of glories of heaven and into the grimy muck of hell. Other crime associations soon after scrambled to assume top position like cockroaches. Nowadays, the McReary were lucky to gain mention in any media source.

"Hey Gordon, check out page A10," Packie instructed as he folded his newspaper in half.

"Huh?" Gordon stopped clipping coupons from the magazines. "A10?"

"What? You going deaf? Yes, I said A10."

"Oh, shit, where's…" Gordon trailed off as he started lifting up the scattered mess that was once the Sunday edition of the newspaper. He brought his own paper over while Packie was going through his family's set. Minutes went by until Packie got annoyed with the constant sound of paper shuffling.

"Fucking Christ - here!" He tossed the section at Gordon's face. The other man took it and held it extremely close to his face. Packie sighed with annoyance. "I thought you said you were gonna get glasses."

"I don't need glasses," Gordon insisted as he squinted his eyes. "Ummm..."

"Yeah, you need glasses and Gerry's told you, too. About a million times. I'm surprised you haven't accidentally shot anyone because you couldn't see what you were shooting at."

"Shut up, Packie! My eyes are fine, dammit. Now what am I supposed to be looking at?"

Packie snatched the paper out of his hands and started reading the article out loud. _"Recent strings of hijackings have brought high alert among Liberty City police enforcements. Eye witnesses suggest that members of the Irish Mob are responsible for the wave of criminal activities, most involving car jacking."_

Gordon watched as Packie carefully set aside the newspaper on a nearby counter. Once he was settled, an awkward silence developed in the kitchen. Minute went by until Gordon finally asked, "So?"

Packie gave him a look that suggested that he was possibly insane. "Didn't you just hear a word I said? That shit was _our_ doing and the media's starting to pay us attention again!"

"Jesus, Packie, that clip was underneath a glossy 8x11 ad for next week's new episode of _Republican Space Rangers. _And besides, it's not like they directly named _us_ as the perpetrators. There's lots of white people who dress in green and who do carjackings. We start to look alike over time, y'know?_"_

Packie scowled and jabbed a finger at him. "You don't appreciate anything, do you? I swear you exist just to drive me up the goddamn wall!"

He got up from his seat and slammed the chair against the table as he stormed out of the room. "I'm diving headfirst into the chop. Don't bug me unless the house is under fire or something."

Gordon grumbled as he started cleaning up the table. Sure, he may need glasses, but Packie definitely needed a brain.

* * *

Author's note: It's never stated anywhere in canon that Gordon has vision problem. I just threw that in here because hey, it's fan fiction.


	8. Tell Me A Secret

"Tell Me A Secret"

* * *

"Kate, I killed your brother."

Niko's confession caused his fiancée to end her conversation with her mother on the phone.

"Ma, I have to call you back. Something _weird_ just came up. Yes... Yes... Yes... I love you too, Ma. Good-bye."

She closed her phone and placed it on the counter top when she positioned herself on her stool to address Niko.

"You know, most people would say 'Good Morning, honey' or 'Hey the house is on fire!' to get attention. What you just said really… I mean…"

Her gaze fell to the floor, at Niko's worn boots, as her heart felt like it was slowly being squeezed by a vice.

"I didn't want to wait until the day before our wedding to say this, but I felt like I had no choice." Why was his voice so cold? So calculating? "I couldn't keep this secret from you."

Lifting her gaze, she found Niko standing over by the living room window, his dark gaze focused on nothing in particular outside. It was like he couldn't dare face her.

"Francis wanted me to kill Derrick. Derrick wanted me to kill Francis. If I didn't follow through, both were going to go down and drag me with them. I couldn't let that happen, not when I was getting closer to getting my revenge, nor could I cause more suffering for my cousin."

Kate let out a shuddering sigh. "I knew it," she said softly but with a hint of disappointment. "I fucking knew it."

Niko closed his eyes but he still didn't look at her as she stood up.

"Niko, how _could_ you do this? My brothers aren't perfect and we all know any of them are going to die sooner or later… but to learn that _you_ were responsible for having killed one of them? Because you decided to side with one of them? God, Niko! They were both so fucked up! _How could you?"_

Niko didn't so much as flinch as Kate started cursing up a storm. He wasn't used to hearing her swear unless they were drinking. She was just as bad as Packie when intoxicated; she blamed her Irish heritage.

Finally, Kate sat back on the stool and started laughing. It was a harsh, bitter laugh that forced Niko to finally look over in her direction.

"I should have known you were no better than my brothers. You're just like them and it makes me sick to even think I wasted my time with trying to see a more humane side of you, to let myself love someone so cruel and heartless. Why didn't I listen to my woman's intuition?"

"Oh!" Niko threw his hands into the air and he too offered a cynical laugh. "Perfect! God bless this city! I'm _so_ happy to know that my future wife realizes how _awful_ of a person I am! Despite knowing what I do and what I am capable of, you still feel the need to judge me. How noble of you, Kate McReary."

"Listen, you! I've been involved in more shit than I ever care to realize because of my family. Violence should be my middle name after everything I've witnessed, felt, and heard! You had no right, Niko Bellic! You had no right!"

The tension was thick in the air. Kate decided to busy herself with fiddling with her cell phone as Niko stood on his side of the room, his face emotionless. Neither said a word to one another and beyond the sound of the occasional traffic congestion outside, all was quiet. At last, Niko broke the silence with words of heavy melancholy.

"Life is very complicated, Kate, If it wasn't so, I would have not killed either of them. I did a lot of terrible things and yet this particular incident has bothered me the most…"

Kate flipped open her cell phone and selected her brother Packie's name. "Have you said anything to either Gerald or Patrick?"

"No. Nobody knows but you and your other brother involved."

Kate heaved a heavy sigh as she closed her phone. "Probably for the best." Her fingernail pressed painfully against her phone's screen. "They'd never forgive you." She paused before adding, "Sure, they say they hate one another, but to have someone close to them act as an executioner for members of our family?"

"... What about you, Kate? What do you want to do about us?"

An annoying buzzing noise was abruptly sounded, nearly giving Kate a heart attack. She fluttered her eyes open and found herself staring up at the ceiling. Next to her bed was her ancient radio alarm clock. She threw her arm over and fumbled with the buttons until she was able to shut off the noisy racket.

She groaned as the dream she had became fainter and fainter. Running her other hand over her face, she wondered what she ate the night before for her to dream about Niko (oh god, she was going to _marry_ him!) and the glaring notion of him having killed her brother.

Niko may be a criminal but he wouldn't dare do such a horrible thing as kill a member of her family…

… would he?


	9. Action Packed McReary

"Action Packed McReary"

* * *

Packie licked his dried, cracked lips and tasted blood.

Shit, he was getting careless.

He ejected the magazine from his pistol and inserted ammo from his pocket. These were the last of his bullets until he could make a trip to nearest arms dealer. If he made it out of this situation alive, that trip would have to be ASAP.

A bullet bounced off the brick wall just an inch above his head.

He reinserted the magazine until he heard a click. He silently counted to three before he lunged out from behind the dumpster and started firing. Luck was on Packie's side as he managed to catch the guy trying to load his own weapon, a sub-machine gun. Well placed shots slammed into the stomach, chest, and throat. One last bullet sailed through the man's forehead and the impact splattered blood and brain matter against the wall behind him.

The gun clattered noisily to the ground and the body soon followed. Packie made sure the guy was dead before he hurried over and robbed him of any currency he might have. He was quickly disappointed and infuriated.

"Ten bucks? You attacked me, chased me all the way out here, made me go and shoot your ass, and for what? Ten _fucking _dollars?"

Packie gave the corpse a swift kick to the head before he jogged over to his previous hiding spot behind the dumpster. He snatched up a grocery bag and slipped out of the alleyway. He quickened his pace as he maneuvered his way down a couple of blocks just as police sirens wailed in the background. He pushed passed pedestrians and jaywalked across a busy intersection, earning him a number of angry gestures and honking horns. By the time he reached his mother's four door puke-green colored Sedan, he was drenched in sweat. The side of his face was sticky with blood but he hastily rubbed it off with the back of his hand.

"Patrick McReary, what in the world took you so long?" Maureen asked as Packie noisily slid into the passenger seat and slammed the door shut. "Was the store out of milk? Did you get the correct amount of change this time?"

"No, Ma, I got your damn milk and yeah, the change is in me back pockets. Here."

He showed Maureen the bag with the milk which she scrutinized. She reached into the bag and scowled.

"Patrick, the carton is _warm_. Go back to the store and get me another carton of milk. _Cold_ this time."

Packie groaned. That was where he ran into trouble the first time around!

"Ma, we ain't going back," he said, aggravated. "We're going home."

"What in the world makes you think I'm going to go home without milk? We need milk!"

"There's a new episode of 'A History of Liberty City' airing in fifteen minutes."

Maureen gasped in delight, the milk instantly forgotten as she turned on the car's ignition. "Ohhh, that's right! My heavens, how I do enjoy my Public Broadcasting Corporation."

Packie sank back in his seat and dropped the bag on the floor between his feet as his mother drove them out of the grocery's store parking lot. From the speedy pace of the shoot out to his mother's sluggish driving, Packie was developing a headache.

It only intensified when Maureen exclaimed, "Is that BLOOD I see on the bag?"


	10. 1990 So Much Blood

**Author's note: **Yeeesh, it's been a while since I've last updated my baby (and for those of you who are still following, I thank you for sticking with me). While I've wandered into other fandoms, I've been playing GTA again (mostly _Episodes From Liberty City_) and it's gotten me back into the whole crime atmosphere. I've actually had this idea in my head since last December and I wasn't sure how to have it play out until recently.

* * *

_1990... So Much Blood  
_

* * *

For as far back as she could remember, Kate could always count on seeing one of her brothers yell, scream, or hit one another. It was just how it was in their home. Their parents tried to intervene in the beginning, but as the kids got older and became involved with the gangster lifestyle, they were torn on how to handle them. Their mother insisted they needed more church and that they should maintain their core family values. Their father, on the other hand...

"Save it for the streets or just kill each other when nobody's home," he warned them one day for the very last time. "Otherwise I'll shoot you myself."

He never said such things to her, of course. She was the baby of the family, the little princess. She never did anything wrong in his eyes. Derrick, Francis, and Gerald did their best to mind their manners whenever she was in the same room as them. Packie, who was only a year older than her, wasn't so mindful about his mouth or manners and it often earned him a smack upside the head. It was like a silent agreement amongst the boys: out of everyone in the McReary family, one of them needed to grow up halfway decent, and that person was Kate.

"Packie… Packie, wake up."

She poked her brother's backside and mindfully ducked when he threw an arm over his waist to slap her. After she continued to poke him, he finally rolled onto his back and glared at her through the darkness. "What? Do you know what time it is? Go back to sleep."

Before Kate could answer, a loud crash was heard downstairs. Throwing aside his blankets, Packie slid out of bed and scrambled out of the room with Kate right on his heels. The two froze at the top of the staircase as they heard a lot of cursing and dishes being broken, followed by fists striking flesh. The only light in the home came from the kitchen and two large shadows came into view. One of the shadows had its hands wrapped around the other shadow's neck.

"Burglars?" Kate whispered as she pressed up against Packie's arm. "They woke me up and that's why I went and got you."

"Don't be stupid," Packie retorted. "Who'd be dumb enough to hit our house?"

Packie was extremely proud of their family's criminal history while Kate… not so much.

Suddenly Gerald's voice boomed throughout the entire household.

"_**You're a fucking dead man, you no good piece of shit!"**_

Kate trembled violently as Packie very slowly edged his way down the stairs, using the banister for support. Kate didn't want to go and she tried to tug her brother back up but she was afraid to leave him alone and also afraid to be left by herself. She had no choice but to creep with him until they arrived at the bottom. They cautiously approached the source of the noises with Kate's fingers clutching Packie's night shirt. That was when they heard Francis's pitiful pleas.

"Don't do this to me! You can't… We're brothers… Swear to God I didn't mean to-!"

She would never forget the sounds of bones cracking as Francis's body sailed from the kitchen and into the living room. He landed at their feet, stopping them in their tracks, and he was like nothing they'd seen before: battered, bloodied, and broken. While their father took a hand at beating on the boys now and again, none of them ever looked so messed up to where they resembled a freshly mangled corpse.

Packie inhaled sharply and started to back away. He didn't get very far as he bumped into Kate who was literally frozen in her spot. He was about to open his mouth when he took a good look at her.

Blood was splattered across her little face and her green eyes had grown much larger than usual.

"Oh Jesus - Katie!" Gerald charged out from the kitchen like a bull, stepped over Francis, and knelt before her. His large hands, caked with dried blood and small scratches, clamped down on her tiny shoulders to prevent her from running off. He didn't seem to realize his forehead had been cut wide open, one eye was swollen completely shut, and his bottom lip was puffed up twice its normal size. The front of his shirt was stained red with blood. "You okay, sweetie? Did Francis do anything to hurt you?"

"I think it got on her when he fell down," Packie commented in a strangely mild manner tone. "It came out from his mouth."

Gerald shot him a nasty look and barked, "Get your asshole brother to the bathroom and clean him up before the folks get back. I ain't even supposed to be here tonight."

"But he's heavy!" Packie whined.

"GET!"

Packie sighed and he took a hold of one of Francis's hands. He grunted as he pulled on his much larger brother's dead weight with all of his might. Thankfully Francis started to come around and he was helped to his knees. But instead of following Packie, he shuffled in place until he was also looking at Kate.

Both of his eyes were swollen and his mug was covered with various lacerations and bruises. Blood trickled down from his broken nose and split lip. Much of his clothing was ripped and also covered in his own blood.

"Katie… Kate…" Francis panted as he struggled to keep himself upright and conscious. "You know how your brothers are. We were… just playing around." He coughed up blood and much of it dribbled onto the carpet. "Right, Gerry?"

"Yeah, yeah," Gerald remarked without looking at him. "Just horsing around, Katie-girl. You know how we get. We're rough."

Without saying a word, Kate reached up and touched the blood that was sprayed on her face with her fingertips. She stared at her fingers as she recalled the many, many, _many_ times she'd actually observed the vicious brutality coming from her older brothers. When they didn't realize it, she'd seen them at their worst. Whether they were throwing fists or slinging insults, to being literally thrown across the dinner table because nobody volunteered to say grace. One time she even witnessed Derrick, during a drug induced rage, pull out a gun and press it against Gerald's head right in front of a priest who was visit their home at the time. Then she saw Gerald and Francis fighting in her mind's eyes, with Gerald's fist pounding relentlessly into Francis's face over and over and over again, each time more blood being spewed from his nose and mouth. Gerald's own fist was becoming riddled with cuts that oozed with blood from hitting bone and cartilage without mercy.

Blood, blood, blood. There was so much of it. She found herself drowning in their blood, choking in it, filling her lungs with it...

All of a sudden it became too much for her to handle. Snapping out of her daze, she let out a horrific scream that could be heard all throughout the Dukes neighborhood.

The very next day, Maureen McReary made an appointment for her ten year old daughter to undergo therapy.


End file.
